


Round the Bend

by poopipa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Self-Acceptance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poopipa/pseuds/poopipa
Summary: Alfred and Arthur both knew what they were to each other. They were both just too stubborn to admit it.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Round the Bend

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like a year ago, but it has a special place in my heart and always makes me cry, so after editing it a bit, I’m now reposting it. :)

“Green!”

“Green? What the hell is wrong with you?! I asked if you wanted to go grab a pint.” Arthur groaned and rubbed his temples, eyes scrunched in irritation; it was a look Alfred knew all too well but never got tired of smirking at. “Don’t tell me you’re already drunk somehow.”

“Naw,” Al laughed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I just love messing with you.”

Arthur grunted and sat with closed eyes for a moment before he turned back to his computer. “Well, I’m tired of this stuffy office. Our shifts are almost over, and I know you’re not doing any work.”

Alfred stopped spinning in his chair at that moment, just in time to catch a glare from his coworker. “You can’t prove that!” he cried indignantly.

Arthur simply rolled his eyes and went back to his report. “You never do anything but play around. The only reason why you haven’t been fired yet is because the boss’ daughter fancies you.” There was a peculiar bitterness in his tone that pulled the younger’s lips into an instinctive frown. There was something about Artie being upset that just made _him_ upset too, even if he didn’t fully understand what was wrong.

“Oh yeah?” he tried, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. And he didn’t; only the sound of keys clacking met his words. “Pff. Whatever you say, dude. That bitch is way too fake for my taste, anyway.” _And she’s not you._ Al mentally roundhouse kicked his brain and scolded the blush that briefly painted his cheeks.

“Don’t say that!” His coworker hissed over his shoulder. Alfred could see a hint of his face and smiled kindly, moving his head to make eye contact, but Arthur instantly whipped his head back around when they did. Not before Al saw that twinkle of amusement, though.

“What?” He smirked. “Bitch?”

“Alfred, I swear to—“

”Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he sang, spinning in his chair again.

“Stop that!”

“Make me!”

Arthur buried his face in his hands with another exasperated groan. “How in the world did I get stuck with _you_ of all people? I even _willingly_ share an apartment with you; what is wrong with me?”

Al’s grin grew to his ears, and he spun around some more. “Awww, come on, Artie! Admit it! You actually care about me.”

His roommate sat back and swiveled his chair to face him. He had his arms crossed and glared daggers at him from an angry, flushed face.

“Well, someone has to. You’re too much of a child to take care of yourself.”

“Hey! Not true!”

Arthur opened his mouth to spit out another retort, but he seemed to think better of it. He let out a low, annoyed growl as he glanced at his watch. “Whatever. It’s time to go anyway. If you wanna head back, fine, but I’m going to the pub.” With that, he promptly stood and packed his things before stomping toward the elevator, leaving behind a flustered Alfred who was scrambling to chase after him.

“Artie!” he called as he bumbled with his things. “Wait up!” The elevator dinged just as Al slid to a halt beside his companion. “Are you mad at me or something?”

An indifferent grunt was all he got as an answer. Arthur refused to even look at him as they climbed on and descended.

Al sighed and turned his focus on the numbers counting down slowly, slowly, slowly. “Well, I don’t think you should go out drinking if you’re angry. That’ll only end up badly, and I don’t—“ _I don’t want you to get hurt._ “—I don’t want you to blame me if you get hurt.”

Silence.

He glanced at Artie out of the corner of his eye; he was still giving him the cold shoulder. “If you’re still gonna go, I’m going with you.”

Alfred wasn’t prepared for the outburst, and he definitely wasn’t prepared for the hurt oozing from Arthur’s voice. And he _especially_ wasn’t prepared for the crushing feeling he felt in his own chest at the words. “You’re not coming to get a drink. If you’re just going to keep an eye on me or ‘protect’ me or whatever you want to call it, then don’t bother. That’s the last thing I want.”

“B-But—“

“Fuck off, Jones.”

Panic gripped Al’s heart with iron talons; this was the opposite of what needed to happen. He grabbed Arthur’s wrist and yanked him back before he could escape the elevator. He couldn’t risk him getting hurt. Even if he was pissed off and fully willing to beat him to a pulp right now, he still wasn’t gonna let him go. “No. You are _not_ drinking like this. I won’t let you.”

The elevator doors closed. Arthur stared at him with wide eyes; he was shocked, impressed, intimidated. What? Did he really think he was just some stupid kid? _Of course he would. I’ve never given him a reason not to think that._

Alfred released his friend’s wrist with a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, gaze darting down to his feet. “I’m sorry that I’m just some dumb idiot you feel obligated to look after.” He looked up again. Arthur was staring at him with a new expression, one that he couldn’t read. “But no matter what you think, I’m still not gonna let you do something that’s gonna get you hurt. You’re mad because I’m a moron. Take it out on me; don’t put yourself in danger.”

Artie was silent for a long time. He was just...staring at him, looking over him with a face that conveyed nothing; he couldn’t even decipher anything in his eyes.

And Alfred stared back, waiting. He focused on nothing but the guarded forest before him, shimmering as it examined him. He didn’t think about anything else: not their belongings that were now strewn about their feet, not the people who were undoubtedly waiting for the elevator to be void of a pair of screaming coworkers, and definitely not the agonizing pain and fear he felt pulsing deep in his chest and spreading throughout his body.

When Arthur finally spoke, it was the complete opposite of what he expected to hear.

“You’re not the moron, Alfred. I am.” He sighed, long and defeated, and studied Al’s stunned and perplexed expression for a moment before continuing. “You’re not a child, far from it, but I still treat you like one. I’m awful to you; I’m so unfair to you.” Artie’s voice wobbled, and Alfred felt that protective panic come surging back as he saw tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “You’re so kind and thoughtful, even if you don’t go about things quite the right way, and I’m just—“

Alfred took a hold of Arthur’s shaking hands. “I’m gonna stop you right there, dude.” He broke his gaze away from his coworker’s wide, imploring eyes and instead focused on their fingers as he intertwined them. “I’m pretty sure you have it backwards. I’m an absolute asshole. And you’re—“

Arthur cut him off with a sharp snort; despite his outward guise of anger, his words still trembled. “I’m not doing this in a public lift.”

Al’s head shot up, cheeks flushed in vexation towards himself, and he felt the intense aching return as he saw the tiny droplets leaking and staining smooth, pale skin. He instinctively moved to wipe them away, but Arthur pushed at his hands and did it himself, his own cheeks painted red with embarrassment.

“Gather your things,” he murmured stiffly, turning away. “We’re going home.”

A breathy “okay” was all that Alfred could manage. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up his dropped pens and papers, all the while stealing glances over at Arthur as he did the same. _What the fuck just happened?_ he thought to himself as he admired his coworker’s bent-over form. _Did we just have a moment? Is he gonna bring it up again once we get back to the apartment? ...Damn, he looks good in khakis._

Artie quirked a bushy eyebrow at Al after he had finished, snapping the young man out of his trance; he straightened up and clutched his things with a burning face, earning a bemused grin in response.

Without another word, Arthur pressed open the elevator doors and sauntered past the waiting people. Al tried his best to ignore their agitated and curious stares, which wasn’t that difficult with Arthur deciding to sway his hips like some sort of fashion model on a runway. They were probably a strange sight to anyone who saw, but who fucking cares?

When they finally got outside, Alfred was immediately reminded of the horrible southern summers. He craved the coolness of their newspaper editing office, but he craved what was in front of him even more.

Arthur let him walk at his side as they made their way across the city. There were people everywhere, which only made the heat worse, and the two of them had to nearly press themselves together to avoid being separated, not that Alfred minded, and Arthur deliberately brushing against him and synchronizing their steps told him that he didn’t either.

It took about twenty minutes or so for them to reach their apartment complex, and Al could feel his anxiety come crawling back up his spine the closer they got to their room. What was Arthur gonna say when they got in? Was he even gonna say anything? _I mean...it_ sounded _like he wanted to get back home so we could talk, but maybe he just wanted to leave the elevator_ and _the conversation altogether._

Artie did things like that sometimes, but...something about this confrontation felt different from the others. It was far more sincere, especially in its spontaneity, and even he could tell that both of them were desperate to get, well, _something_ out. Their meaningful communication skills were kind of lacking; it was like they were both in denial of something so beautiful right under their noses. They didn’t want to see it; they were afraid of it.

_Why am I afraid of it?_

_...What is the “it” that I’m afraid of?_

Before his mind had a chance to put him in his place, Arthur had unlocked the door and let them in. Al closed it behind them, reluctant to turn and face the other; instead, he fiddled with the lock, his skin crawling as he felt Artie’s gaze all over him. It was so easy to picture him: arms crossed, hip jutted out, eyes narrowed, lips drawn in a thin line...

“Alfred, look at me.” It was a command, but there was something soft about it. There was an underlying tone beneath the words that Al rarely ever heard, but it never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

Slowly, he turned, a pleased smirk playing with the corner of his lips; his mental depiction of his roommate’s appearance was spot-on.

Arthur studied him further, his own smile fighting for dominance. “What’re you grinning at now?” He was losing grip on the tough demeanor he was trying to portray; Al watched the way his foot slightly rapped at the dark wood floor, the way his hidden fingers fiddled with the fabric of his navy polo, the way his eyes glistened with a light that hurtled his heart into a frenzied gallop.

As he stared, Alfred’s smirk faltered, evolving into a timorous smile, and he pocketed his hands to hide his own nerves that quivered beneath his skin. “You,” he murmured sheepishly, eyes darting down to the space between them. Some weird feeling wormed its way into his chest and wiggled around, sending tingles of warmth all throughout his body.

A familiar flustered snort succeeded in tugging Al’s head back up with fluttering heartstrings. _Dude, what the_ fuck _is happening to me? Why am I...Why is he...FUCK! I don’t know how much longer I can handle this shit._

“What’s there to grin about?” The only remaining feature of Arthur’s confidant guise was his stance; everything else had faded away, leaving behind a multitude of confused and intense emotions that mirrored his own.

Alfred’s hands were trembling in his pockets. He bit his lip. He shrugged. He rocked on his heels. He looked everywhere but at Arthur.

“You.”

“You’ve already said that.”

Al cleared his throat and peeked at Arthur; his hands were on his hips now, and he was regarding him with a gentle, curious expression that coaxed a smile out of the young blonde.

“And I’ll say it again if I have to.”

That endearing ruby tint came rushing back to Arthur’s cheeks, and his hands flew up in a futile attempt to cover it. “You’re crazy; do you know that?”

Alfred laughed and slid toward him to poke at his fingers. “Yeah, yeah. You tell me that every day.” He poked some more, earning angry grunts, until Artie finally slapped his hands away with a huff.

“Twit,” he barked, grinning behind a tomato mask.

This was the part when they usually dispersed and laughed off the unspoken undertones of their interaction, pushing them away to the deepest parts of their minds, desperate to pretend. But Al couldn’t do that anymore. _I’ve said that to myself so, SO many times, but I’ve always chickened out. I can’t do that anymore; I have to be the hero. I know Artie would never do it; he’s too—_

Arthur suddenly grabbed hold of his hands, intertwining their fingers as Al had done on the elevator and succeeding in snapping him back to reality. Alfred sucked in a surprised breath with wide eyes and stared down at him, but he refused to meet his gaze. He had his focus fixed on Al’s black tie as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“U-Uh—“ Alfred started. His own face was starting to heat up, and his heart was speeding up. He was too used to being the one to initiate things, and now that he was in the backseat...he felt...he felt...

_Backseat of what? What am I talking about? What the hell is going on?_

He knew exactly what was going on.

_How long are you going to keep this up? How long are you going to force yourself to remain ignorant of your own feelings? You stubborn bastard. You—_

“Alfred.”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

He looked. A quivering smile fiddled with his mouth, threatening to break him as he saw tears streaming through a blur of his own. “I’m looking,” he breathed.

Arthur’s shoulders shook, and he took a deep breath before leaning towards him and connecting their foreheads. He opened and closed his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words. They stood staring at one another, sharing oxygen with their matching stained cheeks and interlaced fingers.

Artie cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet and raspy; the sound of it, the pain, the guilt, everything...

Alfred choked on a sob. “No more apologies,” he whispered. “We’re both sorry. Stop apologizing; you don’t need to.”

A forlorn chill enveloped him as Arthur pulled away. “I _do_ need to. Don’t you understand?” Distraught droplets of jade shimmered at him from a pacing, disheveled figure. “All this time, I’ve been so unfair and utterly awful to you, and you’ve—“

“—been a stubborn, selfish, insensitive, arrogant bitch who disguises himself with a cloak made of assholes and an oversized asshat because he’s too afraid to face the truth of anything that happens within him and other people.”

Arthur stopped dead and gawked at him. His face was etched with astonishment, eyes blown wide in awe and jaw agape. “I...I didn’t realize...”

“That I can actually use words? That I’m actually not a fucking moron? Yeah. Not many people know that.” Al’s whole body was shaking now; there were too many emotions flooding through him. He wasn’t in control anymore. He was about to let more furious words tumble out of him, but his flailing hands were caught between a pair that radiated newfound strength.

“No. Not that. I always knew that.” Arthur stared into his eyes intently, searching him, reading him as he panted with gritted teeth and tried to come down from his rage high. Their fingers laced together once more, and Al found himself looking down at them through blurry eyes again.

“Look at me, Alfred.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“Why?”

“Look at me.”

He looked. There were tears everywhere; they filled his vision and stained his clothes and fell to the floor on their feet. But he didn’t care about those. Arthur. Arthur’s tears rushed from emerald pools filled with liquid pain. He was hurting. He was hurting, and it felt like a million searing daggers piercing Al’s heart. With tentative but determined hands, Alfred slipped from his roommate’s grasp and cupped his damp cheeks. “I’m looking,” he sobbed, gently wiping at the streams.

Arthur took in a shaky breath and placed his hands over Al’s aching heart. Warmth. Golden warmth spread through him.

“Alfred,” the Brit choked, colliding their foreheads together again. “You are not any of those things.”

“But—“

“ _No._ Alfred, listen to me. You are the most thoughtful, passionate, and big-hearted person I’ve ever met. You care so much about other people that you don’t care about yourself; you don’t know how to, and you don’t _want_ to. You think you don’t deserve it.”

Their noses were touching at this point, wet with tears, and the mixture of them within Alfred’s vision and Arthur’s eyes left Al’s focus confused and disoriented. All he could see was the intense emotion bubbling in the green waters before him. All he could hear was that voice, the voice that always scolded him or made fun of him or—

“But I care. I always have cared, and I always will care. Everything I do, I do it for you. You deserve the world.”

—or told him exactly what he needed to hear.

“You—I—“ For once, Alfred was at a loss for words. Arthur had gone and completely smashed both of their walls and sent them crumbling down; they were exposed, vulnerable, and Al had no idea what to say.

So, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to say anything.

He just needed Arthur.

“Hush, you bloody idiot,” Artie whispered before enveloping him in a verklempt hug. He squeezed so tight, and Al squeezed back even tighter, his heart leaping up to his throat. “Just shut up and let me...let me...” He clung to his gray polo as if his life depended on it, and his voice lowered to a whimper that brushed against the shell of his ear. “Just let me hold you.”

And he did. If he was being honest, he didn’t want Arthur to ever let go. He watched as his coworker’s shirt rippled beneath his hands and soaked up his tears; he listened to the way Artie’s uneven breath tickled at the hairs on his neck; his heart skipped and pranced in unison with his as their bodies pressed together; he reveled in Arthur holding him, surrounding him, just being _him_.

_Are you going to admit it now?_

_There’s nothing to admit._

Alfred’s hold tightened. “Arthur?”

The response was delayed. “Yes?”

_Tell him._

_Tell him what?_

“Do you...” He swallowed. “Do you...feel that too?”

There was a chuckle, and then Arthur shifted so his face was hidden in Al’s neck. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

_You know what it is._

“You know what it is.”

Al broke away from Arthur just enough so that he could look into his eyes. He was wearing a smile that exuded patience and affection, and, despite the blotchy state of his tear-ridden face, it was glowing with a light brighter than he had ever seen.

Alfred smiled. He knew what it was. He knew that they would never have to say it out loud for it to be known. He knew that their relationship was so much more than they had pretended it was; they knew what they were to each other, and they knew that they would always be there for one another, no matter what. He knew what it was; he had always known what it was. And he knew that it always has and always will be.

_Love._


End file.
